Disarranged (2 page)

“I just figured…you know.” Grace fidgets with her hair. “I figured you’d want to have fun. Take your mind off…
things
.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything just because you’re his sister, Grace.”

“I know. I
know
that. But I still feel responsible, somehow. If only I could reach through our genes and punch some common sense into him.”

I unpack my shirts slowly, carefully, as if concentrating hard enough on making everything neat inside the drawers will keep my mind off that night. And Lee.

“If you want to talk about it –”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” I smile. “The Beginner’s Ski course sounds fun. I think I’ll do that. It starts at one. That gives me enough time for a nap – this jetlag is killer.”

Grace’s dark eyes are tender and understanding. She tries to match my smile and picks up the phone.

“Alright, it looks like it’s at noon tomorrow. I’ll tell them you’re signing up for it. There’s rental ski gear at the desk, too.”

I put my toothbrush and makeup case in the bathroom. When I come out, she’s lying on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

“What about you, Ms. Haute Couture? Any relationship problems you want to talk about?” I ask. She sighs.

“Jen and I’ve never been apart this long. We Skype every other night but it’s still so hard not being able to see her in the flesh. Not that I’m not grateful. I mean, at least I can still Skype with her. Some people can’t even do that.”

Lee never answered the texts I sent him, and when I tried to call him the voicemail said the phone had been disconnected. I hadn’t heard a single word from him since that night he tied me up in the hotel room – something I still can’t think about without blushing ferociously. But the blushing always devolves to pain flickering across my face. I try not to let it show.

Grace jumps up from the bed. “I’ll let you sleep. I’ve got a photoshoot down in the forest. We’re taking snowmobiles, and I think one of the cameramen is bringing a dogsled.”

“Try not to freeze your butt off.” I smirk.

“What butt? Models aren’t allowed to have butts,” She laughs and grabs her coat, whirling in the doorway and pointing at me. “Oh, and we have dinner reservations tonight.”

“We do?”

“Yup, seven-thirty at the four-star in the lobby – Jacques’. Ferdinand’s been dying to see you.”

Ferdinand – he was the photographer who took that picture of Grace and I that ended up in Seventeen. In the whirlwind of the last few months I’d almost forgotten all about my secret stint as a model. But the thought of seeing him again and hearing his strange accent brings a little smile to my face.

“Sounds great. I’ll try to dress up.”

Grace winks. “That’s my girl.”

Before I fall asleep in the cool bed, I look at my phone longingly. It’s stupid to think that just because I’ve met up with Grace again, Lee would contact me. But they look so much alike – the same shade of dark hair and intimidating height. Even their olive skin tone is the same. With Grace around, I can almost taste Lee’s ghost. I feel a step closer to him, and after months of life without him one step feels like seven hundred. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Hanging around with Grace is now just an excuse to be that much closer to Lee. And that’s creepy ex-girlfriend behavior on my part. Besides, I’m not giving Grace my full attention as a friend. She doesn’t deserve that.

I pull the blankets over my head and stare at my phone until I fall asleep. Praying. Praying that he’ll call and I’ll hear his voice one last time. One last time, and I’d remember how to breathe again. One last time, and I can live my life without him a little easier. Do I sound desperate? Am I one of those clingy girls I promised myself I’d never be?

Is it too much to ask for just three seconds of closure?

Three seconds of his voice saying goodbye?

***

LEE

***

Kiera smiles at a passing waiter and crosses her legs under the table. I pick at my fettuccine and try to ignore the way her foot rubs on my ankle. Even at a ski resort in the mountains, she prefers fashionable clothes over sensible ones – her feet inside tiny beaded sandals. She rubs higher, over my shin, and scoots her chair forward to give her legs more length. I know where this is going. I sigh into my wine and adjust my suit cuffs.

“Is this really necessary? Can’t you wait until we’re alone?”

She pouts her baby-pink lips. “You used to like exhibitionism.”

“I used to like a lot of things. Like freedom.”

She laughs and waits until the waiter is come and gone with water. The restaurant buzzes around us, the predominant language French. I don’t know how Kiera convinced me into coming to the goddamn Alps – something about a vacation and a change of scenery. Even if she thinks she’s clever, she’s so transparent sometimes. She just wanted me away from L.A. Away from the people I love. Her constant jealousy of any woman who looks at me or talks to me is nauseating. Her jealousy moves her like red-hot puppet strings, burning her and everyone who tries to take control.

Her foot inches up my leg, presses against my inner thigh, and rests on my crotch. Between the dress pants and her rubbing, I’m involuntarily hard in seconds. Even if I hate her, we were together for a while. She knows exactly which buttons to push to turn me on, and it sickens me. My reactions to her come-ons sicken me. I try to control it – push out the image of her face leering across the table. Any other man would die to be in this position; she’s had the male attention of the entire restaurant the moment we walked in. But I know who she really is. I know the heartless child under her perfect façade of tanned, rich-girl brand names. She doesn’t want a relationship, or a boyfriend. She wants a toy. And I’m just the toy she’s figured out how to play with for a long time without breaking it.

I’ll never break. Not as long as I’m protecting someone.

Kiera’s foot moves faster, in circles, and I clutch my fork with white knuckles and clench my thighs together to stop her movements.

“Cut it out.”

She smiles. “I want to see you lose it, Lee. Right here, right now. And if you ask me to stop again, I know a girl who could use a mystery stalker harassing her. I have so many willing criminals my father got out of jail, which one would be best for her, do you think? There’s a very sweet suspected rapist who got out recently. Ex-military. I think he’d be wonderful.”

I slam my fist on the table. It makes the people around us look. Kiera only smiles wider. Everything in me burns to lurch across the table and shake her. She wouldn’t dare. But the glint in her eyes says she would. She would definitely dare to do that to Rose if it made me squirm, if it punished me. And it would punish me like no hellfire ever could. Slowly, guiltily, I unclench my thighs.

“That’s a good boy.”

I want to sneer at her, to keep my face blank and rob her of the pleasure of seeing me ashamed. I focus on the space over her shoulder, to where people go in and out of the restaurant. Focus. Don’t let her win. Don’t show any emotion.

In the restaurant doorway, I see something that punches the air out of me.

Dirty blonde hair. A slender, tall frame, a gentle face with long-lashed eyes and a happy smile on her face. She’s
smiling
. Suddenly everything in me warms, the bitter ice of Kiera’s ministrations fading. Her smile melts my façade so easily, but panic quickly rises in my chest.

Rose is here.

It’s simultaneously the thing I dreaded and the thing I burned for.

She’s here, in the same room as me. It’s been months. The sweater she’s wearing hugs her chest and her jeans cling to every curve, every curve I memorized, every curve I try to remember in my dreams, every curve I try to replace Kiera’s with when she’s under me, writhing.

I keep a straight face as Kiera’s rubbing grows faster. But my eyes are locked on Rose. Rose’s hair. Rose’s eyes. The way she smiles as she looks up at the chandelier, enchanted.

Rose.

I pretend it’s Rose, and give in to the pleasure.

***

ROSE

***

The clinking of the restaurant’s silverware and glasses grows louder as I round the corner. The smell of lamb and vegetable stew tantalizes my nose. The low, constant murmur of French is becoming a soothing sort of lullaby, and makes walking around really nice. No one stares, or even glances my way twice. I might as well not exist, and that’s exactly what I need right now – peace and quiet and not-existing.

My nap was refreshing, and cleared nearly all the dark clouds of sadness out of my head. My stomach growls and my nose leads me to the restaurant, Jacques. It’s all fancy tables and tiny candles flickering on top of flawless white tablecloths. The people dining look more like movie stars than casual tourists – all dolled up. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, dripping with crystal teardrops that reflect the bright golden light. I feel a smile crack my face. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

The hostess at the podium gives a small ‘ahem’, and I quickly realize I must look like an idiot, gaping up at the ceiling. I close my mouth and flush a bright red.

“Um. Hi. B-Bonjour.”

“Good evening, miss,” The host’s English is perfect, with a rich French accent. “How may I help you?”

“I have a reservation? Under, um, Grace. Grace Montenegro.”

She looks down the list and flashes a smile at me. “Right this way.”

She leads me past tables and to a booth in the very back. I thank her and order a root beer, and she leaves me with the menus. Grace said she’d be back in time for dinner, but I still look kind of pathetic at this booth, alone. Not that I mind. It gives me a few minutes to compose myself, to dredge up topics to discuss with Grace. When I flip open the menu my eyes nearly bug out – everything is so expensive. I close it quickly and sip my water. Maybe I’ll just have a drink for dinner, instead. Or bread. That sounds much better than a forty dollar steak. I’m still a student – every little expensive thing I see I calculate into my student loans, even if they are mostly paid thanks to Grandpa’s will.

I smile and stir my ice. Grandpa would’ve liked it here.

Over the heads of the dining crowd, I see a familiar face. She looks at me for a moment, all bright blonde hair and sparkling eyes. She smiles. And that's when everything in my stomach revolts. I'm not hungry at all anymore. The root beer the waitress brings looks like sludge and tastes like ash. She asks if I'm ready to order but all I can manage is a dry, hoarse 'in a while'. The waitress nods and leaves me to crumble.

Kiera is here.

She looks as beautiful as ever - maybe even more so. The cruel glint in her eye as she looks my way again doesn't make her any less pretty. I want to throw up but there's nothing to throw up into. I breathe slow, deep, the memories of last Christmas burning hot against the back of my eyelids. I can't go there. I'm better, now. This is a vacation.

Kiera gets up to use the restroom. I watch her go out of the corner of my eye.

My nausea gets even worse when I see who's sitting across from her.

A young man in a fitting, expensive-looking suit, with amber skin and hazel irises stares at me. His hair is as messy as ever. My heart contorts when I see the shadows under his eyes and the faint frown lines around his mouth.

Lee.

He's tired. He's tired and worried and skinnier than I've ever seen him. And he's staring at me like he's seen a ghost.

My brain screams at me to play it cool, to remember he's engaged to a beautiful girl he obviously loves a lot. My heart cries out to run to him, to wrap my arms around him and never let go again. My two conflicting sides wrestle for mere seconds before reaching a tortured compromise - I raise my hand and wave. I even manage to put on a semi-convincing smile. Or at least I hope it's convincing. I can't tell, because all Lee does is nod, stiffly, back at me. The balloon of conflicted joy in my chest nearly punctures with that one movement. He didn't even smile. His eyes flickered for one moment, but I could've just been imagining it.

He doesn't care about me, anymore.

I tighten my grip on my root beer, the coldness seeping into my palm almost painfully. I should've expected this. It's okay. It's natural. He's engaged. You don't get engaged to someone when you care about someone else. Your feelings for everyone else cool in comparison to your feelings for your fiancé. Maybe he does still care about me, but it's muted, now. And that's fine. That's how it should be!

I keep saying it's fine in my head, but every time I try to reassure myself I just feel more and more like throwing up.

I grip the straw with shaking fingers and sip. I glance at the menu, pretending to be interested in what I want to eat. I can feel Lee's eyes on me, like two lasers piercing through my layers of clothes and down to my very skin. We haven't seen each other in months. That gap in time looms before us - a huge wall I have no right to climb, and one he obviously wants to stay behind.

The waitress comes back, and I offhandedly order a salad. Nothing solid. If I eat anything too solid it'll just be harder to throw back up, and I feel like I'm going to throw up any second. I won't risk it. Lee stares at me the whole time I'm ordering, and finally I muster up the courage to look at him again. His expression has changed. It's soft, now, the corners of his eyes turned down and his mouth open just a little, like he's about to say something -

"Fancy seeing you here, Rose!"

Kiera's voice booms, and I look up. She slides into the seat opposite me in the booth and smiles. I don't smile back. Part of me, the polite part, says I should. The part of me that still cares about Lee says I definitely should - she's the one he picked to marry. She'll be Lee's wife this coming fall. But the part of me that was back-stabbed, double-crossed, and played by her knows better. So I settle for smiling with my mouth, but not my eyes, just to let her know I mean business.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

"Lee and I are on vacation," she says, twirling an extra napkin in her manicured fingers. "You?"